A Hundred Visions
by more-than-words
Summary: "I'm just saying. I'm not young anymore..." Henry is concerned that he's starting to run short on time, and Elizabeth steps up to reassure him. Written for the fic exchange.


This is for the winter fic exchange, full prompt quoted at the end. I hope I have done the prompt justice, and I really hope whoever requested it isn't disappointed with the interpretation :)

* * *

 **A Hundred Visions**

" _Yeah, but you're –"_

The unfinished sentence had been bothering him all evening.

Henry McCord was not typically a man given to insecurity, but he could fill in the blanks of what was left unsaid. He could complete the end of the sentence easily enough: Yeah, but you're _old_.

Old.

When he had agreed to go to after-work drinks with some of the guys from the DIA, he hadn't quite realised that somewhere over the past couple of decades, _the guys_ had all got a lot younger. Or rather, the age of the after-work drinks crowd had stayed the same, but somewhere along the way _he_ had changed. He had aged.

He'd got old.

He wasn't even sure now what they had been discussing, but he had been taking an opposing view in a debate with a couple of the staffers from the office, and when he had tried to justify his stance, that was when the guy – the _kid_ – had said what he did, before catching himself and cutting himself off.

Like he thought he couldn't tell Henry he was old, as though he might not know. As though he might see himself as one of the guys, and the kid didn't have the heart to tell him that really, he was an outsider. Henry was sure the kid had meant no offence, but the truncated remark had weighed on him, and throughout the rest of the evening he had been analysing every little thing, every view he held that differed to the majority of the group, every counter-argument they made to something he said in their discussion.

And he couldn't help but think that the kid was right. He was old.

Further evidence to the fact – he was home by nine o'clock, when once upon a time, drinks after work might have gone on until late into the night or even at one time until early the next morning. Instead he had drunk two dissatisfying beers but had been ready to leave after the first, unable to shift the funk that had settled over him.

He had thought about it the whole way home, and by the time he pushed open the front door, he could feel every insecurity he had, every niggle he felt but never normally paid attention to, bubbling just beneath his skin. Henry paused in the foyer to set down his briefcase and take off his coat. He could hear the sound of the TV doing battle with the sound of Jason and Alison arguing in the family room. Henry sighed. He'd had enough of bickering children for one evening. He scrubbed his hands over his face, feeling weary, and then just stood there for a moment hiding his face in his hands, welcoming the oblivion of darkness.

There was the sound of footsteps coming towards him, and then soft, cool hands touched his wrists. "Henry?"

He dropped his hands and opened his eyes to find Elizabeth stood in front of him, a look of concern on her face as well as a slight aura of stress surrounding her that suggested she hadn't been home long enough to have chance to unwind from her day at work – or maybe she'd already been home for too long, and the stress was a result of their arguing teenagers in the room behind them. "Hey," he said, forcing a smile for her.

"You OK? What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he said, even as he knew it was pointless to say it, even as he knew she had already seen him trying to hide behind his own hands and undoubtedly knew that something was up.

Elizabeth stroked one hand over his shoulder, her eyebrows raised in expectation. "Henry," she prompted gently.

Irrational annoyance surged within him. He didn't want to share this with her. Didn't want to tell his wife what was bothering him because then she would realise it _did_ bother him – and she might realise that it was true. Henry knew he was doing her a disservice to think she had any issue with his age, but the restless energy that had been building all evening needed to go somewhere, needed to be let out, and Elizabeth was there as a target. "I'm _old_ ," he bit out – snapped – a little more forcefully than he'd intended. He brushed her hand away and then brushed past her up the stairs to the bedroom, leaving her to stand watching him go with a look of surprise and hurt on her face.

Then she followed him. Of course she followed him. Henry had just reached the top of the stairs when he heard Elizabeth starting the climb behind him, her pace deliberately slow as though being careful to give him space. Or maybe he had made her wary, he thought as he entered their bedroom and pulled off his tie, tossing it down onto the bed.

The annoyance that surged through him filtered away to be replaced by guilt, and when Elizabeth appeared in the doorway a moment later, hanging back as she watched him in concern, Henry turned to her with his arms spread wide, his expression genuine and apologetic. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'm sorry I snapped. It wasn't called for. Forgive me?"

Elizabeth shrugged and stepped away from the door, clicking it softly shut behind her and then crossing the room to let him fold her into his arms. "Nothing to forgive," she said.

Her arms wrapped around his waist and Henry let out a sigh, relaxing into her embrace, the place he always felt the safest. He pressed a kiss to her hair, enjoyed the press of her body against his.

"But something's going on," Elizabeth prompted, pulling back to link her arms around his neck and look up at him, all open and expectant and willing to listen.

And if he couldn't talk to her about it then who could he talk to? "I'm old," he said again, quieter this time, admitting to it rather than accusing.

There was a pause as he watched Elizabeth try to formulate a response before eventually she simply quirked one eyebrow, encouraging him to continue.

"I went out for drinks with some of the guys after work," explained Henry. "And one of them, this young guy – a kid, really – he…"

"Said that you're old?" she guessed.

Henry nodded even though the kid hadn't outright said it. It was close enough. "I'm sure he didn't mean anything by it. But after that I was just so aware of how… different I am to most of them. How we're at such different places in our lives. They've never heard of half the things I knew in my childhood. It just makes me realise, I suppose, that I don't have the time I once did."

He wished he could take it back almost as soon as he said it because the look of pre-emptive devastation on Elizabeth's face was not an expression he wanted to see again in a hurry. "Don't say that," Elizabeth said, a hint of panic in her voice that suggested even the thought of him being gone wasn't something she could deal with.

Henry squeezed her tighter for a moment. "Hey, it's OK. I'm not planning to drop down dead any time soon. I'm just saying. I'm not young anymore. And talking to these guys made me realise that in a way that I haven't really thought about before."

Elizabeth's expression turned sympathetic then and she tilted her head as she regarded him closely. "Henry, what did they say to you?"

He shrugged, suddenly feeling a little constricted under the scrutiny, letting his arms drop from around his wife's waist and taking a step back, as though that might stop her from seeing the lines on his face, the grey in his hair. "It's stupid, really." He rubbed at the back of his neck and paced in front of the window, face turned away from Elizabeth. He felt the indignation from earlier in the evening rising again as he remembered the conversation. "It's just… we were talking. Debating things, and when I suggested that one of them was thinking a little recklessly, he said that I was being restricted by convention. Restricted by convention, as though it's ridiculous for me to think about things in shades of grey rather than the black and white he seemed to favour. He didn't outright say it, but he implied my approach was outdated, that I was something of a relic. Something to be laughed at and humoured." He could hear the bitterness in his own voice, the recrimination as he quoted, "Almost, at times, the Fool."

"Being able to quote T.S. Eliot from memory suggests you're anything but a fool," Elizabeth retorted.

The funk wouldn't shift even with the vehemence of Elizabeth's belief in him. Maybe the kid had been right, Henry thought. Maybe he was outdated. When he looked at his age and looked at theirs, they were the ones with time on their side. "Maybe I am out of step," he said quietly. "They're the ones who are going to be changing the world now. Maybe they're right that I'm focusing on the wrong things."

Apparently Elizabeth wasn't in the mood to let him wallow. "Caring more for the fruit than the flower? No great loss, perhaps."

It took him a moment to place the reference. "Pretty lines by Yeats aren't going to distract me from the fact I'm old and out of touch, babe, but I appreciate the sentiment."

When Elizabeth sighed, there was a hint of annoyance in it. "Henry, the only convention you've ever been restricted by is your sheer decency and commitment to your family. I fail to see that as a bad thing. And as for who's going to change the world now? It's our children," she said – insisted. _Believed_. "And who said you can't still change things? What the hell are you doing every day if not changing things? What the hell am I doing?"

That one got to him and he stopped his pacing, snapping back around to look at her. Her words cut realisation into him: look at what they both did for a living. He couldn't deny that either of them had influence, and while Elizabeth's work might impact the bigger picture in a more overt way than his did, he couldn't deny what he had done in his career – what he could still do. And then after them came their children, and what amazing potential they had to make a difference to the world whether they chose to continue in their parents' footsteps or forge their own paths.

But there was still the other side of it, the other part of ageing that existed somewhat independently from his professional life and that couldn't be denied no matter how hard he tried. "You're right," he told Elizabeth. "I know you're right. But I am getting older. I can feel it. My back aches when I sleep funny. My knee aches when it rains. I'm… very aware of my joints now." Henry looked away, swallowing hard. It was difficult to admit to himself – and to admit to Elizabeth – that he was feeling the effects of ageing. Acknowledging them made it real that there was an end point approaching, much sooner than he would like. He sighed. "Things hurt more."

In particular the thought of leaving Elizabeth and the children behind. Leaving them with pain. Not knowing what would happen to them, if they would be OK without him. The thought that, in fact, they would be OK. That it might turn out they never needed him at all.

Elizabeth stepped into him, sliding her hands to his shoulders and dipping her head to catch his gaze as he looked down at the floor. "Henry," she said, a tremor in her voice. "Hey, look at me."

He couldn't resist the gentle command in her voice, the tone that said she got him; she understood him and she would take care of him. He lifted his gaze to hers and thought that he could probably drown in the deep blue of her eyes, the love that he saw there.

"OK, yeah," Elizabeth told him frankly, "you're getting older. But so am I. We're in this together, buddy, remember?"

There were plenty of things he could say to that, plenty of things he wanted to say to that, but Elizabeth didn't look like she was finished and so he held his silence and let her hold the floor.

"And I could tell you that age is just a state of mind, but we're both old enough now to know that that's only partly true – as the aching joints will attest. And I could talk about how you might be older now but you have the benefit of so much experience to draw on, but that's too easy. So I'll just tell you this. Yeah, you're older now. We both are. But I still love you just as much as I ever did and this is just the next thing we're going to do together. And I don't know about you, babe, but I'm not done yet. There's still so much more to do, and plenty of years left to do it in."

The only response he had to that was to wrap his arms around Elizabeth and pull her tight against him. God, she was amazing. He loved her more than anything and she was right – the love had been there all along and would be until the end. Some things would never change no matter how old they got. One of those things was how much he wanted his wife. Henry hauled her up against him so that she was in just the right position for him to drop his head to her shoulder, where he pressed kisses along her collarbone and up the side of her throat. "Thank you," he whispered against the shell of her ear, enjoying the shiver she gave in response.

Elizabeth's hands trailed a hot line down his back. "Besides," she said, a little more playfully now as she sensed the upswing in mood, "you don't stop falling in love when you grow old, you grow old when you stop falling in love." She pressed up to give Henry a kiss, whispering against his lips as she pulled back, "So fall in love with me again."

Oh, how was he supposed to resist that? He wasn't quite sure what he thought of the assertion she had borrowed from Gabriel Garcia Marquez about growing old, but the instruction after it – the part that was all Elizabeth – that he could get on board with. He was in love with her every day. He fell for her and fell for her again – and fell again now as she reminded him of what mattered.

He might not be new anymore, but he wasn't _old_. He wouldn't let himself be, because to be old would mean that his time with Elizabeth and their children was growing short, and that he would _not_ accept.

And how could he be old when all his wife had to do to get his heart beating faster in anticipation was give him a coy smile and lead his face to hers with a single finger placed under his chin before she dropped her hands to the buttons of her blouse, undoing them slowly as she kissed him? It was every bit as vibrant as when they were in their twenties and discovering each other for the first time. More so, because now they had their history to back up the passion and make it into something transcendental.

* * *

Elizabeth slipped free the last button on her blouse and then shifted her shoulders to let the silky garment drop to the floor. She pressed deeper into Henry for a moment, touching her tongue to his and enjoying his answering moan. Then she pulled back just enough to break the kiss, keeping her head close to his and looking up into his eyes.

His pupils had dilated and from the surety of his touch as his palms skimmed her back she knew that he was just about ready to give in to her, but there was still a hint of distraction in his eyes, still a slight bit of unease as the insecurity he had been feeling lingered within him.

She knew that she had made an impact with her words, and knew from past experience that he would mull things over for quite some time to come before he made his peace with the issue. But right now, he needed to relax. He needed to be reminded that while he might be getting older – and she was getting older right along with him, something she had to admit bothered her from time to time – there was still plenty of life left worth living.

And in the short term at least, she had the best way to do that.

Elizabeth slid her hands down Henry's chest and stomach, feeling the heavy beat of his heart and the stutter of his breath before she tangled his fingers with hers and took a step back towards the bed. She stretched up to whisper in his ear. "Get on the bed."

A small tug of his hands had him complying; Henry paused only to step into her and give her a searing kiss before he complied, a slight question in his gaze but also love and trust and endless desire.

It was a heady combination and Elizabeth felt heat blooming low in her belly at the look on her husband's face. She wouldn't want to speak for him on the subject, but she felt young again every time he looked at her like that – only now it was better, because they had been together for a quarter of a century and he _still_ looked at her like that.

She followed him as he settled back against the pillows, sitting in the middle of the bed and propping himself up against the headboard, his eyes fixed to her as she slowly came towards him. His gaze dropped to her chest as she reached the bed and pulled her camisole off over her head, letting it drop to the floor to be tidied away later.

Henry took in the navy blue lace and satin bra she wore and held out one hand to her in invitation. Elizabeth smiled, taking his hand and letting him help her onto the bed. She straddled his thighs, resting back against his legs – mindful of the knee that sometimes hurt when it rained. Then she leaned in close to kiss her way up his neck, encouraging him to tip his head back to allow her better access with one hand threaded into the hair at the base of his skull. She gently sucked against his pulse point, feeling the bob of his Adam's apple in his throat and the warmth of his palms as he stroked over her arms and shoulders.

She waited until she felt his pulse tick up another notch before she pulled away and rose up onto her knees, looking down at Henry's face to make sure she had his attention. She gave him a sultry smile and then reached behind her to undo the clasp of her bra, taking a breath as it released.

"Babe," Henry said, reaching up to her, no doubt with the noble intention of helping her draw the garment away.

Elizabeth stopped him by snagging his fingers with hers and pressing his hands down against the mattress, telling him with a look to stay put. When she was sure he was going to do as directed, she reached up herself to pull the lace away from her chest, sliding it slowly down her arms and then casting it off behind her, feeling Henry's eyes watching her intently and filling her with confidence. She rested her forearms against his shoulders as she swayed slightly above him. "You like what you see?"

"Oh God, yes," Henry said, his hands coming up to hold the backs of her thighs and keep her where she was. "As if you need to ask."

"Not so old then that you can't enjoy a floorshow," she quipped, chancing bringing a little levity to the topic that had been causing her husband so much distress now that he seemed to be in a lighter mood.

He chuckled. "Well, I'm not dead, babe." He trailed his fingers up her spine, drawing a shiver from her. "And you're incredible. And gorgeous." He rested one hand on the back of her neck and pressed her head down to his.

She let him draw her face down to kiss him, sipping from his lips as she cupped his face in her hands and enjoyed the feel of his slightly spiky end-of-day stubble against her palms. "Even though I'm old?" she whispered as she pulled back.

Henry looked genuinely indignant at that. "Elizabeth, you're beautiful. You're always beautiful to me. Age doesn't come into it."

Finally. He got it. "Exactly," she said. She couldn't keep the smile off her face at his response. She couldn't deny that Henry had always known how to make her feel wanted and desired, even when she was doubting herself or unhappy with some aspect of herself; she just hoped that she could do the same for him now when he needed her to step up.

From the look on his face, she thought that she was doing OK. And she thought he'd just had a little realisation that she really, really meant it when she said she still loved him as much as she ever did, no matter how old he might be.

She thought he deserved a little reward for that. She drew back and waited until his eyes came back to rest on her face as he anticipated what she might do next. Then she took her hands from his shoulders and touched herself instead, running her fingers over her chest and cupping her breasts in her palms for a second before moving on down her ribs.

Henry reached out and caught her wrists in his fingers, bringing her hands back up to her breasts and encouraging her to linger a while. She bit down on her lip, smiling as she complied, teasing her nipples and gasping as a hot dart of pleasure shot through her. She felt her hips moving of their own accord, undulating above Henry's lap as he sat riveted beneath her, his hands resting lightly on her hips to guide her.

She carried on after a minute, drawing her hands down over her stomach and then dropping them to Henry below her, seeking out the buttons of his shirt and undoing them slowly. She could feel his breath hot against her chest, and he turned his head to suck one hard nipple into his mouth as she parted the fabric covering him to set her palms against his chest. She lowered her hips slightly, causing him to release her breast from his mouth and letting her feel the state of his arousal against her centre – definitely no age-related challenges in that department.

Henry groaned as she rubbed herself over him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and bringing her lips to his for another lengthy, steamy kiss. She forced herself to keep control of the kiss even as she could feel the urge to just sink into her husband and let desire just take over; she wasn't done with him yet. She stroked her tongue against his, enjoying the feel of him moving against her and the intensity of his kiss. Henry moaned low in his throat, his chest rumbling against her palms with the force of it, and that was her cue.

Elizabeth took her hands from him and reached to unzip her skirt, sliding the zipper down slowly. The sound obviously registered with Henry because he broke the kiss and dropped his gaze down to watch her as the material loosened around her waist.

With no easy way to remove the skirt while she rested over him, Elizabeth gave him one more kiss and then shifted back off the bed, standing at the edge of the mattress and waiting until Henry's eyes were settled and locked on her before she let the skirt drop. The navy lace panties that matched her bra followed a moment later. Then she just stood there for a moment and let him look.

Henry's gaze was hot and heavy and all-consuming, and she would have felt a little vulnerable standing in front of him if not for the fact that with Henry she always felt safe and loved and cherished, and that had been there from the beginning and had only increased with time. One of the benefits of working so well and growing old together: the trust between them had only served to grow.

After a minute he held his hand out to her, a mirror of his earlier action, and she reached out to take it, smoothing her thumb over the back of his hand. She looked down at the hand that held hers, a little more lined than it used to be and a little more worn, but still as sure and encompassing as it had ever been. She looked back up at his face and found him looking at her own hand in his, and from the expression on his face she thought that he might have been thinking the exact same thing.

* * *

Henry tugged on Elizabeth's hand, eager to have her back with him, and was pleased when she came easily, climbing onto the mattress and not releasing his hand until she had settled on her knees next to him. He was aware that he was being somewhat passive and he shifted up, preparatory to wrapping his arms around Elizabeth and rolling her beneath him, but she held him back with one hand against his shoulder and then pushed his open shirt off him, leaving it bunched behind him against the pillows.

Next she unceremoniously tugged his t-shirt over his head and then dropped her hands to undo the buckle of his belt. Yeah, he supposed he did need to catch up a little bit, he thought as he swept his gaze over her and felt himself harden further at what had to be the most consistently arousing sight in his life; his wife, happy to be with him.

He could feel Elizabeth's wrist flexing against his erection as she pulled his belt loose and the feel of it made him groan, his hips arching up to press himself against her as she turned her hand to cup him through his trousers, a satisfied smile on her face.

"I've changed my mind," he said. "I'm completely fine with being older now. Because it means we've been together long enough that you know exactly how to make me lose my mind, in the best possible way."

Elizabeth's smile turned sweet at his words and she leaned in close to kiss him as she lowered the zip on his trousers. "This is what I'm saying."

The experience brought about by their time together meant he knew just how to make her lose her mind, too. Henry decided it was time to put that experience to good use and he slipped his hand in between Elizabeth's legs to run two fingers over her delicate flesh, sucking in a breath at the wetness he found there –and never ceasing to be amazed at how her body reacted to his touch. Since they had first got together, it had been and still remained a source of wonder and pride for him.

Especially when she moaned at his touch and her head fell back as he brushed his fingers over her clit, her mouth open on a gasp and a look of such anticipation coupled with contentment on her face that it made his heart sing. "That's it," he crooned in encouragement, gasping himself as he felt her fingers moving against his erection as she finally managed to slip her hand past his underwear to wrap around him in a sure grip.

The position was a little awkward and Henry felt the need to show Elizabeth just how much he appreciated what she had done for him, comforting him with her words and then making sure all thoughts of his bad evening were thoroughly replaced by the reality of her against him, over him, surrounding him. Hell, she had effectively just given him something of a strip show and he thought that sure as hell meant it was time for him to step up and make her feel just as loved as she had him.

Henry pushed against Elizabeth's shoulder, dislodging her hand from him and encouraging her back. He wrapped his arms tight around her and rolled them so her back was flat against the mattress, her body cradled beneath his and her arms lifting so she could hold his shoulders and keep him there.

A little awkwardly, Henry pushed down his trousers and underwear, pulling back from Elizabeth momentarily to kick his clothes the rest of the way off and then he was back over her, resting his weight on his forearms and hovering close above her. He dipped his head to rest his forehead against hers. "Hi," he said.

"Hey." She stretched her head up and pressed a kiss to his lips that was so sweet it brought a tear to his eye.

He spent several moments just looking down at his wife lying beneath him, her face open and trusting and the look in her eyes loving and aroused.

That was something he couldn't ignore and he moved one hand down to guide himself inside her, enjoying the familiar feel of her walls stretching around him and, when he was pressed all the way in, the way she seemed to sigh in such a way that suggested having him buried inside her made her feel complete.

He could relate. And, he thought, this never got old, _never_. So how could he write himself off just yet?

He began to move inside Elizabeth then, focusing on the way she rolled her hips against him to meet his thrusts, and concentrating on making her feel good as his hands stroked her ribs, her breasts and then down to her clit, while he slipped his tongue inside her mouth in a kiss that somehow felt more intimate than usual.

He could feel the pressure building within him at the sensations caused by Elizabeth's hands on his back and her mouth against his and her body welcoming him with each thrust, but the thing that tipped him over the edge was when she tightened below him and her walls throbbed around him and she gasped in his ear, " _Henry_."

He came on a cry, releasing inside her and then lowering himself down on top of her to press kisses to her shoulder, blanketing her body with his like he could use himself to protect her there forever, and thinking that he would never be able to get enough, time would never be enough. He could never have too long with her, and so there was no way he could possibly be old because if he was old it meant that he was approaching an end, and that was not an option, not yet. He wasn't done yet and nor was Elizabeth. He laced his fingers through hers and felt the bite of their wedding rings against his skin – and if a tear fell from his eye onto her shoulder then… well, maybe she'd think it was sweat or maybe she wouldn't, but either way he hoped she knew: he had enough plans for them that could fill another ten lifetimes and still think that time was not enough, but for every second they'd had and all the seconds they still had to come, he was grateful.

* * *

Later that night, Elizabeth slept peacefully beside him in their bed while Henry lay awake, ruminating on the way time was running away from him – and making peace with himself about that fact, as much as he thought he could.

 _Time yet for a hundred indecisions_ , Eliot once wrote, _and for a hundred visions and revisions…_ Maybe the poet was right, Henry thought. Maybe there was still time for all of that. But –

He stroked his thumb over the wedding ring that rested on his finger and looked down at Elizabeth as she lay beside him, her hair curling softly at her shoulder and her lips slightly parted as she slept. Lovely. Timeless. His.

At the end of it all, Henry didn't need time for a hundred indecisions and revisions, or even for just one.

Not when one of the oldest decisions he ever made had turned out to be the best one he ever did.

* * *

 _Prompt:_ _Henry is complaining because he is old. Elizabeth has to comfort him. So she says something like would an old couple do this? And then she gives him a strip show._


End file.
